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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Aristoi" data-source="post: 2507976" data-attributes="member: 32975">"Help us! Help!" They heard a cry and failed to recognize the voice, which could be either good or bad. "Someone, anyone- help us!" There was the sound of a great strike and the cry of a woman, and off went Adama, charging around the corner. "Damned goat!" Elim cursed and with a head motion, gestured for the other two to follow. And even as he charged the corner he held up, skidding to halt as he recognized what was blocking the corridor. ~A Zovvuk~ ~Dear Powers, a ZOVVUK!~And Adama had charged right in.  Ugh! The Man-Goat would get him killed yet!"You! Gith! I think you can use this better'n I," one of those that had already been fighting it called, even as it turned and slashed open the chest of a Lizardman Warrior that was battling it with them. The cast was poor, the weapon thrown was not the least aerodynamic and it fell short. But the recurved longbow with the gleaming elf-hair string and the worked black-hide of the quiver with two-score arrows in it drew his attention like nothing else. Elim tossed the crossbow to S'lann and dove for the bow and arrows, rolling and coming to his feet kneeling with two arrows nocked and ready. S'lann, seeing what the others were fighting and knowing his poor magics would do nothing, instead began to sing his wordless song of encouragment. He knew it wouldn't help much but it would gladden their hearts and lend strength and at the moment, it was all he had to give. With a steady hand he fired the bolt loaded in the crossbow Elim had tossed him, the quarrel glancing off the demon's thick hide. Adama charged in, head lowered, bleating a warcry as he swung his longsword. The strike bounced off of the raised talons of the horrid beast as it casually swatted the sword aside. With terrible ease it stabbed with it's other clawed hand and punctured the mail-chested woman standing to the side, shield and sword raised. She had silvery-feathered wings and long blonde hair, the symbol of Ilmater on her brow in glowing crimson. She gasped, blood gurgling from her mouth as the other hand joined the first, tearing through her breastplate like paper and with a heave he rent her in two!Her sword, gleaming with holy power, clove to the horrid beast even as he ended her life, the stinking flesh separating where the blade bit deep leaving black smoke where the flesh and blood boiled away. Lifeless fingers dropped the hissing blade even as it was drawn from the wound, only to fall near the feet of Adama. The remaining warrior, the only one surviving, was dressed in banded mail, carried a scimitar and like Adama had cloven hooves. But though he also had horns, the Satyr looked more Man that the former Cormyrian. Near his feet, his pipes lay shattered. And with his own roar he swung at the demon, slashing at him once, twice, leaving thin lines of black ichor dripping down it's chest. And then the Zovvuk did a curious thing. It turned and stepped to one side so that blocked the other passage, bending down. A third eye opened in the middle of it's forehead and a withering ray of crimson lashed out, lighting up the passage nearest it. From the Satyr came a surprised cry and he felt back, staggering, resisting the effect. Elim saw the manoeuver and remembered what was about to happen, his cry of warning coming too late for others even as he averted his gaze. The crimson light washed over him and he resisted it, his natural resistance to magic keeping him safe this time.  Meanwhile the goat-man had jumped into the ray in an attempt to shield his allies from the attack, whatever it was. He didn't have the defenses Elim did and could not know. With a surprised bleat a wisp of something like smoke was torn from his eyes and nose, fluttering across the space into the eye of the Zovvuk and causing the worst of his wounds to heal over justa  bit. Adama staggered as the necromantic flare subsided, the third crimson eye closing for the nonce, a trace of his vitality ripped from him. His nose pale and his eyes whitened slightly, Adama raised his head partially stunned by what had just occurred. "Damn you!" Elim cried and fired from his kneeling position, two arrows shrieking past Adama to slam into the upper chest of the Zovvuk even as the third, a seemingly wild shot, bounced off of the ceiling and slammed into it's forehead and putting out the now-closed evil eye. The Zovvuk screamed in rage and pain, more black ichor squirting from the shaft puncturing it's skull. And Adama, not to be outdone, charged into the horrid demon even as Kilmor, forgotten by the others tackled the creature. Both of them, the Yak-folk and the Zovvuk, were of the same size and struggled mightily against one another's strength. With a mighty heave and a roar Kilmor picked up the great demon and threw it down, pinning it under his immense strength. "KILL IT! KILL IT NOW!!" Kilmor shouted over the roaring of the demon even as the vile creature heaved and clawed trying to gain it's freedom. Muscles bunched and sinews strained, one supernatural creature again one demonic. "We'll hit you!" Elim cried even as he took a bead, knowing he wouldn't but Adama and the Satyr likely didn't have his skill. "IT MATTERS NOT! KILL IT NOW 'ERE IT GAINS ITS FREEDOM!!" Kilmor roared as he exerted his ultimate strength, doing nothing but binding the evil creature and holding it to the ground. Adama hesitated in his attack, afraid he might strike his large ally even as Elim struck, placing three more shafts into clear spots in the thrashing demon and forcing more cries of pain and rage from it. "Strike now then, don't make this sacrifice be in vain!" The Satyr wove in, taking several stabs at the creature, attacking with precision even as Adama waded in, managing to strike the enemy and avoid his compatriot. The demon retaliated by making a supreme effort and standing, however he was unable to remove the Yak-folk that hung on it like a child. It swung one way and another, bashing the bovoid against one wall and then another trying to dislodge him, succeeding in only hitting itself. Elim fired another volley, hunting for good spots and striking with inhuman accuracy, firing around his friends and Kilmor and drawing fresh blood. "For Cormy-y-yr!"Adama shouted as he struck the telling blow, cleaving the great demon's skull twain and causing it to explode into a steaming stinking cloud of black mist. Kilmor collapsed to the floor, his arms suddenly empty, arrows clattering with him when the creature disappeared.They stood all stood panting, the last notes of S'lann's song dying away, slumping with exhaustion as it's strengthening effects faded. "I need a drink," Elim muttered, sitting down heavily. **We both do** came the voice. He looked up alarmed and saw nobody else seemed to have heard. With dread his eyes fell to the bow laying across his lap, ~Oh gods and Powers, please...~ **Well who else d'you THINK it was, you simpleton?**  ~Did I just trade one form of-?~ he started to ask, directing his thoughts at the weapon. **'slavery for another? If you like... though I tend to consider it a partnership. You need a fine bow and I need a wielder and we seem to see things similarly** the edgy male voice replied. ~Can we discuss this later?~ Elim replied, levering himself upright but not letting go of the weapon, intelligent or not. **Surely** came the whispered reply. "Where now?" Adama asked, standing over the rent body of the Aasimar Paladin, holding her sword thoughtfully. It held power, even Elim sensed it from this distance but he couldn't tell what kind. It bore a strange mark of trinity on it but he couldn't make out the eidolons. "We must away," S'lann told them. "Gather what we can and continue," he paused and touched the stone around his neck, "that way." He pointed down the way they had been heading. He glanced over at Elim curiously, an eyebrow quirked. "We're you talking to yourself?"  Elim gave him a dangerous look, forcing the other to scurry away. "I am Yolen of Cormanthor," the Satyr introduced himself, shaking hands with Adama and nodding to Kilmor, Elim and S'lann. "I would aid you as you have aided me. I sense that we will have greater success together than apart." Adama looked at the others and seeing no apparent objection he nodded wearily. "I am somehow diminished. I am not sure how much further I can go." "The Healer is in the Pits?" he turned to look at S'lann, who understood instantly what he was asking. He touched the stone and got that faraway look for a moment before nodding confidently. "Then she can tend to our wounds." "I can help with some of that," Yolen offered, singing an oddly yodelling song with a syncopantic melody, moving from one to the other and healing them of their lightest wounds. "And we have these," S'lann offered one potion to each of the most-wounded from the pack he had collected. "These are the Healer's potions, carried by the minions who have perished. Kilmor and I have confirmed them of healing." A few moments and the mint-dusk tasting fluids had been drunk, vitality returning and fatigue banished, though for Adama he was still weakened. "We must go."</blockquote>

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